


Last Cry

by ChemGoldAu



Category: Naruto
Genre: Alcohol, Drugs, Gen, Itachi regrets everything, Kisaita if you squint?, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-16
Updated: 2019-03-16
Packaged: 2019-11-20 23:02:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18133502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChemGoldAu/pseuds/ChemGoldAu
Summary: “Kisame. Can you please buy me some dango from the shop we passed a few miles back?”Kisame blinked in surprise, looking up at his partner.“A bit late in the day for dango, isn’t it, Itachi-san?”Itachi didn’t answer. He only stopped brushing his hair and remained motionless on the bed, waiting for Kisame to give in – as he usually would.In which Itachi finds that he has nothing left to live for.





	Last Cry

They sat in silence – as per usual – in the small room in the inn.

Kisame and Itachi had very recently finished a mission in the Land of Waves, one that had stretched on for three weeks. It involved continual observation of their target, a powerful and high-ranking ninja official. Their mission was to corner him, capture him, and carry him to a pre-determined spot where Kakuzu would take charge of the man from then onwards. Itachi tried to recall exactly what they had kidnapped him for – something about a secret ninjutsu that the man held near and dear to his heart. Literally – it was tattooed onto his heart, where the man bragged that the only ninja who would read it would be the man who was able to kill him. It had certainly been difficult to capture him – he was always around multiple people, whether it was with a few other powerful ninjas, or in a crowded bar. But after weeks of waiting, the man had slipped up and walked home alone late at night – or was it early in the morning? – and Kisame and Itachi had swept in instantly.

Their leader had been pleased when they reported their mission to be complete.

“Thank you, Itachi-san, Kisame-san. You have both done well, as I expect from you. Kakuzu was getting restless being stationed at the drop-off point, I am grateful that you were able to deliver before he became…belligerent.”

Kisame had chuckled softly, a rough and rumbling sound.

“You cannot work for so long without a break. Please spend a night in an inn to rest and recover before I decide upon another mission for you two.” The hologram of their leader flickered slightly.

“Thank you, Leader-sama,” Itachi said quietly.

The hologram nodded before fading away.

Kisame had lead Itachi back to an inn that he had taken notice of a while ago, and he spoke idly to his smaller partner, who listened in silence. When they reached the inn several hours later, they asked for a single room with two beds and retreated almost immediately – much to the relief of the small, old woman who had checked them in. She was shaking a little as she passed Kisame the keys to their room.

Kisame had taken advantage of the hot springs the inn provided, and Itachi had taken a shower.

And thus, they were sitting on their respective beds in silence, finally clean and ready to rest.

Itachi dragged his comb through his hair slowly and gently, staring off into nothingness. The room smelled faintly of alcohol, the walls were stained, and some parts of the carpet – much to Itachi’s disdain – were sticky. Not that it mattered. But even years later, with the blood of hundreds on his hands, Itachi instinctually hung onto his Uchiha sense of pride and expectation for things to be at least minimally clean and tidy.

Sighing softly, Itachi spoke.

“Kisame. Can you please buy me some dango from the shop we passed a few miles back?”

Kisame blinked in surprise, looking up at his partner.

“A bit late in the day for dango, isn’t it, Itachi-san?”

Itachi didn’t answer. He only stopped brushing his hair and remained motionless on the bed, waiting for Kisame to give in – as he usually would.

Sighing, Kisame slid Samehada off of himself and tossed the cloth he had been using to clean the handle off to the side. “Of course, Itachi-san. Any particular requests?”

“Only ensure that it is relatively fresh.” Itachi moved off the bed in one fluid movement, flicking his hair behind him. “Thank you.”

Kisame raised his hand to stop his partner. “If you’re moving to get your money, please don’t bother. It would be my pleasure.”

“If you are sure,” the raven-haired man replied, turning to look at his partner.

Itachi looked tired. No, he didn’t just look tired – he looked damn close to hell. His skin had lost the already little colour that Itachi had had when Kisame first met him, the bags under his eyes were darkened, and his gaze somehow seemed more haunted than ever before. Kisame had no idea what had caused it, but he could tell that something was wrong.

Of course, he wasn’t going to ask, because they both knew that if he asked, Itachi would reveal nothing. He would only stare at Kisame until the elder man averted his gaze.

“Of course,” Kisame replied. He hesitated for a moment before he scratched his head, grabbed Samehada, and moved towards the door. “I’ll be back soon, Itachi-san. Will you…be all right here?”

“Why would I not be?” Itachi shot back, eyes penetrating him with a familiar steely gaze. Kisame dropped his eyes.

“Ah…I thought perhaps you were sick. You aren’t looking or sounding quite like your usual self.”

“I’m fine. Thank you, Kisame.”

“Of course,” he murmured, and exited the room, closing the door behind him. Something in Itachi’s tone of voice – something that would most likely be barely registerable to people who weren’t paying extremely close attention – worried him. But what could he do? Itachi said that he was fine, and Itachi wanted some dango. Kisame wasn’t going to suffer under his glare for the rest of the night just because he had a bad feeling.

Meanwhile, Itachi waited inside the room for the footsteps to fade. Once he was certain Kisame was gone, Itachi moved to lock the door.

He was finally alone, and the silence was almost unbearable. He couldn’t wait for it to be all over. Rubbing his eyes fiercely – they ached more than ever nowadays – he checked once more for Kisame’s presence before reaching into his small bag for some paper, ink, and a brush. Carefully, he imbued his chakra into the sealing symbols he painted. Hopefully, this meant nobody would be able to hear anything, smell anything, or get into the room before Itachi was done with what he meant to do. Moving to the bathroom door, he opened it before sticking the piece of parchment to the rough surface.

Stepping back at a minuscule of a more frantic pace than usual, Itachi flipped on the complimentary and terrible radio he and Kisame had in their room. He turned the volume up slightly, and it crackled, taking on a staticky sound. It was some rock song that Itachi didn’t recognize – not that that was unusual. Itachi hadn’t bothered to pay attention to the songs on the radio for years. He just needed something to stop the awful, aching, hollow silence in the room that seemed to resonate in his ears sharply even though there was nothing to hear.

Standing still for a few seconds, he inhaled and squeezed his eyes shut.

He deserved to die.

What he hell had he done? _Why_ had he done what he did? Was that truly the only path for him to take, to kill his entire clan except for his little brother? An image of Sasuke flashed through his mind – a small child smiling at him, riding on his back, and then on his knees and sobbing his eyes out upon finding his entire clan dead. Itachi’s breath caught in his throat, and the pressure of everything came to him at once. He gagged, unwillingly, and slapped his hand to his mouth.

No. He was tired of these emotions. He was exhausted of feeling drained by the guilt, the hate…the love. His little brother – his sweet, strong, talented, _dead_ baby brother. Dead, because of the Chuunin exams, where children were pitted against each other to see who would become the strongest weapon of the state. Dead, because of the one-tailed jinchuuriki – a child just like Sasuke, being used as a vessel for some supposed greater purpose. Sasuke had suffered so much pain for absolutely nothing. There truly was no way to win when it came to the politics of the ninja villages. Konoha had wanted the Uchihas wiped out because they felt they were a threat, and that’s exactly what had happened.

Except for Itachi, and he would soon remedy that.

His head was spinning as he opened his eyes. No matter how he looked at it now, Itachi had done everything wrong. Even in a situation where there was no winning, somehow he _still_ managed to do everything the worst possible way. The genius of the Uchiha clan was the last remaining fool of the bloodline, manipulated and lied to like every other ninja before him, forced to do the dirty work of old men and women who used them as pawns in their petty wars against each other.

He turned around, entered the bathroom, and closed the door behind him.

Itachi had been gathering supplies for a couple of months now. A few days after he had heard the gut-wrenching news that had left him cold and dizzy, he had made the decision to start stealing supplies to grant him the most selfish death that he could imagine. Every mission he and Kisame had gone on, he had stolen any drugs that had been hidden about the abode where their targets were. He had been sharpening his kunai almost obsessively, unnecessarily past the point of “stick it in someone and they’ll bleed”. Itachi suspected it was at the point now where it might have even cut through bone. Itachi wasn’t going to try and cut through his own bone, of course, but he wanted it sharp enough so even as the strength left his body, even lightly dragging it across his skin or dropping it on himself would leave deep cuts, causing the blood to come pouring out his veins.

He locked the bathroom door and activated the seal, pressing his palm to the back of the door and sending chakra to the seal on the other side.

He had also been waiting for an inn with a bathtub in the bathroom. Many of them had hot springs, and some had showers, but there had never been one with a bathtub at a convenient time until now. Walking to the tub, he turned the handle and tested the temperature of the water that spilled out with his hand absentmindedly, until it reached a temperature he liked. He plugged the drain and stood up, removing his headband first and letting it clatter onto the cold floor. He removed his shirt next, dropping it by his headband and pushed down his pants and socks. Stepping out of them, and only in his underwear, Itachi reached back and put his hair into a ponytail. He didn’t want it getting in the way once he got into the water. Reaching down, he pulled a small bag from his pant’s pocket and opened it.

He had chosen the most powerful drugs he could find, the ones easiest to overdose on. Rummaging through them with a finger, he used his black-polished nail to gingerly take a needle out. He was positive it hadn’t been used. Contemplating for a moment further, he pulled out a white powder in a small container and closed the bag, dropping it on the floor. Normally he wouldn’t dream of being so messy, but why should he care? He had no legacy to protect. He had no pride to preserve. He had absolutely nothing left, and all that was left to do was to go to hell where he belonged.

No. This wasn’t how he was going to die. He was going to die in peace, in artificial happiness and bliss before descending into the dark.

Itachi stared at the needle. Didn’t he need to tie something about his arm first? Oh well. He supposed it didn’t matter, if he was just going to die anyway. Who cared if he got it right or not? Placing the container holding the white powder on the sink, he reached out his left arm and aimed the needle with his right.

Did he really want to do this?

Something made Itachi stop, the point of the needle millimeters away from penetrating skin in the crook of his elbow. He could see the vein that he was aiming for. So why couldn’t he do it?

He sighed and dropped his arm, staring at the ceiling. He supposed that even so close to death, he had some form of reservation against being found with needles being stuck in him. Tossing it aside, he kneeled again and reached into the bag once more, pulling out a mediocrely wrapped cigarette. It didn’t have tobacco in it, of course. It had something much more pleasant – or so he had heard.

Ah. He wanted alcohol, perhaps for the first time in his life. Kisame had bought a small bottle of sake as a self-reward, and Itachi bit his lip before deciding to take it from his partner, tossing the cigarette on the floor.

Releasing the seal with another burst of chakra and unlocking the door, he strode out and grabbed his coin pouch from the night-stand near the bed. Pulling out some money – it would probably be enough – Itachi went over to Kisame’s bed, rummaged under it for the alcohol, and pulled the bottle out. Cocking his head, Itachi pulled another piece of paper from his bag and reached for his brush and ink again. He wrote a single word on the paper – _Sorry_ – before leaving it in place of the alcohol. Grabbing the kunai that he realized he had left near his bed, he headed back to the bathroom. Closing and locking the door behind him, he sealed the room once more.

He placed the kunai on the sink and cracked the bottle open. Itachi sniffed it – his eyes watered a little at that – and took a sip.

He gagged for the second time that night. It was strong, and it didn’t taste good. Why on earth would Kisame consider this a reward? Itachi felt a flick of sadness at leaving his loyal partner behind but pushed it behind him and forced himself to down a few more gulps. He coughed and gagged, pressing a hand to his mouth to stop him from throwing it back up.

Ah. He could feel a warmth spread through his body, a fuzziness beginning to prickle at his head.

He picked up the small container of powder from off the kitchen sink and turned it about in his hand, analyzing it. Twisting the top, he found a small slit appeared which would allow him to pour the substance in a more or less straight line. Tipping it forward, he spilled the substance delicately on the edge of the sink and placed the container on the floor before squeezing his eyes shut in determination and leaning forward, one finger gently on one nostril, and steadily inhaled the small line of powder up his nose.

He reeled backwards after he had finished, almost falling before he caught himself on the wall and supported himself. It felt like sparks were flying through his brain, pleasure receptors finally firing for the first time in years. He breathed steadily through his mouth, staring up at the ceiling, his brain starting to melt away.

He sunk down to the floor and reached for the poorly wrapped cigarette he had dropped on the floor earlier. Staring at it blankly for a moment, struggling to focus on it, Itachi summoned every last ounce of his self-control and released the smallest amount of fire that he could from his fire jutsu, lighting the end up instantly. Pulling the other side to his mouth, he inhaled before coughing frantically. Perhaps that was a mistake. He was already coughing a lot as his health declined from overuse of the Sharingan, and this wasn’t helping – as evidenced by the droplets of blood falling out of his mouth and landing on his legs and underwear. He sat there for a moment – however long a moment had become for him, as it felt like time was slipping away – forcing himself to breathe normally and not hack more blood up. He could feel a little bit of blankness settling slowly into his brain, and he felt his body getting heavy.

It was time to get his kunai and enter the bath.

Grabbing onto the sink for balance, he pulled himself up and swayed unsteadily before managing to ground himself enough to grab the handle of the kunai he had left there. Sitting on the edge of the bath, he blinked rapidly to try and make himself focus and turned the water off. The bathtub was almost overflowing. Sighing heavily, he put one foot in, then the other, and slowly moved into the water. He settled into the warmth.

He was almost there. All he needed to do was to slice his body open and release his blood, sorrow, and life in one final movement.

Slipping the ring of the handle onto his finger, he stared absently at the knife. The colour, the coldness of the metal, the sharpness.

The pain that he had caused.

Itachi sat up immediately in panic and gagged once more, slapping the hand that wasn’t holding the kunai to his mouth as vomit forced its way up his throat. He forced it back down, whimpering at the burning sensation and the way his head was suddenly beginning to spin.

Images began flashing through his head and he cried out softly, tears welling up in his eyes. That fateful night flicked through his head, and the cries and sobs of his family filled his ears, the soft understanding of his parents, the screams ringing in his ears. Itachi felt he was suddenly sitting in a bath of blood, not water. The tears of his brother, the torture he suffered, how he trained so hard only to die and be unable to kill Itachi.

Itachi slammed the kunai into his leg, gasping as the pain ran sharply through his body, and for a moment the fog in his head cleared and he was able to think somewhat normally. He panted as he watched the blood leak into the water, turning the bath pink.

He raised the kunai again and sunk it into his other leg, wincing as he felt it hit a bone. He tugged it out and fell backwards, splashing into the water as his back collided with the wall of the bath. Gasping, he stared at the ceiling as he began feeling faint.

Without looking, he brought up the kunai and slid it across his right wrist, groaning as the pain hit him and the blood poured down his arm. He was starting to feel almost unbearably dizzy, and numbness was setting in. Unsteadily switching the hand holding the kunai, his gripped it unsteadily and aimed for his other wrist, missing and slicing his forearm instead. Panting, he brushed his bangs out of his eyes with his free hand and twisted in the bath to look at his headband.

Kunai clattering to the floor, he reached one hand out and after what seemed like forever, grasped one slippery hand around the cloth. Pulling it towards him, he reached a violently shaking hand into the gap between the metal plate and the cloth, and pulled out a photograph.

“I’m sorry,” he slurred at the picture. Even as his eyes blurred over, he still knew every part of it in his heart. It used to be a lot bigger, but he had to tear it up small enough to fit unsuspiciously in the gap between the metal and cloth of his headband. His brother’s face, with his mother’s hand on his right shoulder, and a barely visible hand from his father on Sasuke’s left shoulder.

“I’m sorry…’Suke. I…don’t know…why I had to do it. Don’t know why…people fight so much. Why there’s so much hate. Why children are…made to be weapons. Why father and Konoha wanted to kill each other. Why…I didn’t think of something…better…I’m supposed to be a genius, right?” He let out a shuddering gasp.

“I did everything…wrong. I couldn’t think of…another way…I’m…so…,” Itachi let out another raspy gasp for air before forcing the word out once again, “Sorry…”

Itachi could barely keep his eyes open. The dark was slowly sliding around the edges of his vision, and he felt hot tears slide down his cheeks. He could barely think.

“’m sorry..” he felt his grip loosen and the picture slip away, the world slipping away with it.

And then he felt nothing at all.

* * *

 

Something felt terribly wrong in Kisame’s gut.

He hadn’t wanted to leave in the first place, and the farther away he had gotten from the inn, the worse the knot in his stomach twisted. He was wrestling with two sides of himself with each step he took – one part of him accepted the fact that Itachi had merely asked him to leave to get him a treat, as he had done many times before. The other side of him couldn’t help but keep repeating Itachi’s words over and over in his mind, each time he did so comparing it to every other time he had asked for dango. Nothing was particularly different, but Kisame couldn’t shake the feeling.

Something was wrong.

Kisame stopped walking and frowned. Sighing, he stared at the cloudy skies above him, dark clouds scampering across the sky as thunder began to rumble. It was going to rain soon.

In a decision that seemed to take every piece of his effort for some reason, Kisame turned on his heel and began marching back. He would say that the dango shop had closed because of the approaching rain. That he didn’t want the dango to get wet before Itachi could eat them. That he had seen a ninja that had targeted the Akatsuki before. That Samehada had been making odd noises, and he wanted to examine it. Anything in the entire world as an excuse to return to Itachi’s side and rid himself of the horrible worry he felt.

He didn’t run back – Itachi would disapprove of that almost as much as he would disapprove of Kisame not bringing dango back with him. He walked rapidly. Very rapidly. And as he picked up a familiar metallic scent that hung heavily in his senses, he walked even faster.

He could try and lie to himself as much as he wanted to – that maybe Itachi had cut himself accidentally while sharpening his kunai, that maybe it wasn’t even Itachi’s blood at all – but his strong shark senses told him otherwise. He knew what Itachi’s blood smelled like. He knew that there was too heavy a scent for it to be a small cut.

It began to rain.

Glancing upwards, Kisame’s blood turned cold as the entire sky began to cry.

As he rushed into the inn –  much to the chagrin and fear of the old woman who had been snoozing at the front desk –  he made a sharp beeline towards their room. Blood had never much bothered Kisame – of course it hadn’t – but he cared for Itachi, and right now the scent was making him sick. Adrenaline racing through his system, he wrenched the door to their room open, breaking the lock in the process.

“Itachi?” he called out hopelessly, feeling – for the first time in a very, very long time – helpless. He didn’t sense Itachi’s presence at all. He only smelled an incredible amount of blood, alcohol, and a faint smell of various drugs. Glancing at the space under his bed – was that a note that said _Sorry_ on it? – he ripped the seal off the door and forced his way into the small bathroom.

He froze as he saw the scene in front of him, and the powerful Kisame Hoshigaki sunk to his knees as he stared in shock, overwhelming emotion succeeding in knocking him down where thousands of blows had failed. He felt his hands trembling and shaking, and he laughed loudly – harshly – because what else could he do? His body answered for him, and a single hot tear slipped down his cheeks as he stared at the gruesome and gut-wrenching sight.

Itachi Uchiha, pale as only the dead could be, in a bath of his own blood.

**Author's Note:**

> Right, so this is the first fanfiction I've published since I was like...12? And that was on a different site. Please let me know what your thoughts are!  
> Also as a disclaimer, I have no idea if how Itachi reacted to having three drugs in his system was normal. I did my best to write it how I imagine it would affect him!


End file.
